Darkening Peace
by Fading to Black
Summary: It's about a young man and a young woman, neither of whom really were given a chance. Is it any surprise that they ended up with the crowd they did?


**Darkening Peace**

**Fading To Black**

_"Every blessing ignored becomes a curse" ~ Paulo Coelho_

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**I.**

There were days where life was easy. Were. Past tense. He had been a child then, to think so, and looking back it should have been obvious. His father smiled at him from a garden. His eyes were full of life, then. Peace. They had grown accustomed to a long peace, and that was the time in which he had grown up.

His mother's quiet activity spoke of no threat, nor did any of the blackness associated with the Dark Arts mar the magic around them. He had grown up in a peace, and peace was hardly conducive to the use of dark magic. It's a great deal harder to find hate in peace, you see.

**II.**

She had been a happy child, despite having to vie for attention from anybody. She had had a rather full family of three graceful (and not-so-graceful) children; two sisters and herself. Her parents had liked Dark Magics, encouraged it a bit, but they didn't put up too much of a fuss when only Bella really relished it. Not even when Dromeda refused to touch it.

She'd been the middle child, through and through, despite being the youngest of the three in age. Bella liked the Dark Arts, Dromeda hated them. Bella was doted on by her parents, they were almost cold to Dromeda. Bella idolized pure-bloods, Dromeda snorted at the ideals. She had been in the middle, between one and the other on everything. She had even wondered about pure-blood superiority for a short, rebellious time. But nothing had come of it.

You see, for her there was peace. In peace, hate and destructive urges stagnation.

**III.**

It had probably started when he first set foot on Hogwarts soil, and been sorted into Slytherin house. He had been so young then, so easily impressed by simple trifles. So impressionable. It would have been easy to turn him to the Light, had the Headmaster not chosen to ignore Slytherin entirely. Any eleven-year old would be easily manipulated, given the chance.

But he had not been given the chance by the Light. Two months after his second year started, he was approached by an older Slytherin to join in a group studying the Dark Arts. Slytherin stands together. He shook his hand, and followed him into the long-abandoned classroom.

**IV.**

She had smiled when she was sorted into her sister's house, the house of snakes. Her family had all been there before. She had been prideful. Her older sister had cheered the loudest that night, the night of her sorting. Why was obvious. Most of the pure-bloods sat at that table. Idiots fit to be goons like Elton Goyle, down to the rather angular Cleadues Parkinson and his sister, Ember.

She still held no particular love for the Dark Arts, but she loved her family, and would do anything for her eldest sister. Including join the group she was in, the DE, that practiced the Dark Arts. Of course, no one paid attention to Slytherins. No one was there to save her.

**V.**

Another letter from his ailing father and his ever-frowning mother. Another broken wax seal. Another inane set of greetings. This letter, however, was not so inane, and it had come on the eve of his NEWT exams. It was not a well-wish. It was an engagement. He set the letter down lightly on his four-poster.

He had heard of Narcissa Black, of course. Cousin to Sirius Black, infamous Gryffindor prankster and brother to one of their group's youngest members, Regulus. Sister to Bellatrix Black, who was a year ahead of him, engaged to Lestrange, and Andromeda Black, a blooming Hufflepuff in his year. With the DE, likely.

He didn't know her at all. But he was a pure-blood. It would have happened eventually. He'd grin and bear it, that's all there was to it.

**VI.**

Eyes flickered across inked parchment as she took a deep breath. Lucius Malfoy, two years ahead of her. A year younger than Bella, who was engaged and out of school for weeks at a time. She came back all bubbly and happy, claiming she was learning the 'pinnacle of magic'. Dromeda didn't count anymore, being in Hufflepuff. She didn't hate Dromeda like Bella did, but it wouldn't be wise of her to side with her erstwhile sister. So she didn't.

And here she was, fourteen, with an engagement to a rather prestigious pure-blood. Old money, the Malfoys. She knew nothing of him but that, and that he was very blond, and somewhat steeped in Dark Arts. But her hands were tied. So she'd take the marriage and see where it went. Even if it meant dyeing her hair.

**VII.**

There was no longer any peace.

That was what he thought when he saw the times. Even as he held Narcissa Black-now Malfoy-on their wedding day, there was a sense of tension, of coiled urgency. He saw it in her eyes, and was sure it was reflected in his. But only for a moment. Masks on, dearie. Masks on and wands out to torture the muggle children, ever since they had found out for certain that DE was short for the Death Eaters, who followed the Dark Lord.

He hadn't been able to leave that meeting until he had been Marked. It had been a terrifying experience. Narcissa's sister, Bella, had an adoring look plastered on her face when she looked at the Dark Lord and a laugh that crackled through the hall as if they had been in a particularly desolate part of the deserted Slytherin dungeons.

So he held her close, held her tightly. Not because he loved her, no. He just wanted them to be spared.

**VIII.**

Cissy remembered herself as she held her sleepy baby in her arms, looking out at the rising moon. She remembered the peace, the war, and the pandemonium of clashing sounds and crashing smells, of epileptic lights swimming through her vision, predominated by that overly-bright green. She suddenly felt like a very old woman, despite being twenty-five.

It was over, she thought, shocked. Numbed, is more true. Lucius was applying salve to the Mark. It'd heated up high enough to sear the skin with a filthy, acrid odor before fading into almost nothingness. He was numbed as well, burning to know what happened and why. They still worked day by day to stay alive, he knew. One mistake could kill his little child, his Draco, whom he loved.

Perhaps if the Dark Lord was truly gone, they would have a bit of peace. On the other hand, they were so out of practice that Cissy wasn't so sure she knew what to do with peace anymore.

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_This story is an entry to The Wand Wood Competition: Cypress._


End file.
